Truth and Heroes
Chapter 3
By L Mouse
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Author's notes: Reality is intruding on my fun right now. I'm sorry for the delay in posting this. It'll be a little while before the next scene -- a week or so. I've got a rather massive project bogging me down in real life.
(Actually, two projects -- one involves nerd work, the other involves physical labor. I need to clone myself. The nerd work pays the bills, the physical labor is what I do when I can't stand to look at the computer a moment longer.)
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Spike handed the cashier two twenty dollar bills and claimed two pizzas and a jumbo order of hot wings. “Keep the change, luv,” he said, waving away the handful of ones she tried to give back.
The pizza joint was in the same place as a Mexican food restaurant in Spike’s own world. Some weird alternate reality affect had scrambled all the restaurants on this city block -- some were in different places, some were missing, and there were a few new places -- like the pizzeria. Mama’s Bar would have been at the corner of Fifth and Oak; it had been replaced by a deli. He was vaguely disappointed by that, but not surprised: Mama was many things, but human wasn’t one of them.
He’d yet to find a demon bar. Or a demon.
They could have ordered takeout, Spike supposed, but Buffy was pissed at both him and Willow. Willow had been sent to the grocery store to pick up stuff for breakfast. He’d been assigned the pizza run. He was reasonably sure that this was because Buffy wanted him out of her sight for awhile.
She’d get over it. Eventually.
He halfway home, and taking a shortcut up a dark alley, when he realized that he’d been followed for the last several blocks. The footsteps behind him were human, probably female, and light: someone athletic.
Frowning, he ducked around a corner and then into a recessed doorway. The footsteps broke into a run -- so they weren’t trying for subtle. He wasn’t entirely surprised when Lisa the Vampire Slayer ran past his doorway. She saw him, slid to a halt, spun around, and crouched with a stake in her hand.
“Did the itty bitty little vampire slayer find a vampire?” Spike mocked, since it was obvious she was hunting him. “Must be pretty exciting -- you’ve finally got a chance to hunt like you were born to.”
She didn’t snipe back; didn’t favor him with a mocking comment. He was surprised by that -- most of the Slayers he’d run into had a tendency to mouth off during a fight. Instead, she simply launched herself at him, aiming at his heart with the stake, movements efficient and experienced.
He ducked, spun, dodged what would have been a killing blow, and protested, “Hey! Luv, that’s not nice!”
She flipped around, using the wall like a trampoline, and came at him with unbelievable speed. He frantically ducked. “Right, then … you want a fight, I give you a fight.”
She still hadn’t said a word. He tangled with her twice more, and managed to kick the stake out of her hand. Lisa somersaulted across the alley, smashed a hand into a battered pallet leaning against a Dumpster, and made herself a replacement stake by breaking a board over her knee. She charged at him again.
“Look, luv, I don’t want to hurt you. We’re on the same side here.” Spike dodged her.
She spun around, impossibly fast, and he couldn’t quite dodge fast enough -- the stake drove home in his chest with crushing burning pain. He inhaled in shock, breath bubbling in his chest, expecting to turn to dust -- but she’d missed his heart by inches.
He staggered away, forced himself to keep to his feet, and gasped through blood-frothed lips, “I said I didn’t want to hurt you, not that I wouldn’t …”
She broke another stake off the mangled remnants of the wood pallet. Pain seared through Spike’s chest as he moved, but he managed to catch her arm. He stepped back, yanked her off balance, and spun her around and tossed her airborne. With a crunch and snap of bone she hit the wall, then landed on the broken bits of pallet.
He crouched, waiting for her to move, but she was out for the count. Her breathing was harsh, ragged, and blood streamed down her face from a cut over one eye.
Spike sank to his knees, feeling the strength drain from his body. He was bad hurt -- only dumb luck had saved his life. Half the shock coursing through his limbs was the realization that he’d very nearly lost his life over a stupid misunderstanding with the local Slayer in a dark alley.
“Spike!” an alarmed voice exclaimed. Clark. Or Bill. He was hurting too bad to even be interested in which of the Kryptonians it was. “How can I help you?”
“Pull it out …” He couldn’t get leverage to yank the stake out of his chest himself. It had splintered ribs and seemed to be stuck.
One strong hand rested on his shoulder, bracing him in place. The alien grabbed the stake and in one smooth move yanked it out. When Spike started to slump all the way to the ground, he caught him, and yanked him back to his feet by his shoulders. Spike, feeling marginally better now that he no longer had a chunk of a tree speared through his ribs, focused on his rescuer.
He realized this was Clark. He was wearing his Superman suit.
Great. He’d been rescued by the Caped Boy Scout.
“What happened?” Clark said. “Umm, maybe you’d better sit down.”
Spike coughed, tasting old blood from mangled but truthfully unnecessary lungs. He’d need to feed now, to heal quickly -- a complication of living in a demonless world that he’d been trying to ignore for the last week. The first three butchers that Buffy had approached for blood had laughed or acted incredulous about her request for blood.
“I’ll be fine, mate.” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “She attacked me. Tried to dust me.”
Clark squinted at him with a frown. “Are you going to be okay?”
He realized he’d just been x-rayed. “Looks worse than it is, bub. I’m not human.”
“Right.” Clark looked uncomfortable. He eyed the Slayer unhappily. “I should probably …”
“Yeah, take her to hospital.” Spike guessed what Clark was thinking. Himself, he’d just leave her there to rot, but Superman didn’t operate like that.
“Is she -- I mean, will the doctors find anything unusual?” Clark hesitated.
“Not that I’ve ever heard.” Spike shrugged. “She’s human enough that they won’t ask too many questions.”
“Spike!” Buffy was running up the alley towards him. She slid to a stop, eyed Clark as he picked Lisa carefully up. Clark launched airborne and flew off in the direction of Metropolis General. Buffy said, “She attacked you?”
He could have *kissed* Buffy for that simple assumption. She had automatically given him the benefit of the doubt, that Lisa had been the instigator and not him. It meant a lot.
“Thank you, luv.”
“Huh? For what?”
“Nevermind.” She slipped under his arm, and he gratefully leaned on her. Buffy’s arm wrapped around his waist, and he could smell her perfume and the strawberry scent of her shampoo clinging to her blond hair.
“Spike?” Buffy said, quietly, as she helped him back to the Kent’s apartment. “Not sure what you’re thanking me for, but for what it’s worth, you’re welcome.”
